“You’ve made a mistake,” Mellia said sharply. “Agent Ravel and I are professional colleagues—nothing more.”
“Indeed? May I point out that the affinity to which I refer drew him—and you—into the trap I set. A trap baited, Miss Gayl, with yourself.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Easy,” I said. “The old lady. He built that dead end and tricked you into it. You were stuck for half a century, waiting for me to come along. He swooped—a little too late.”
She looked at the Karg as if he’d just crawled out of her apple.
“Before that,” I said, “when you caught me in your animal trap: I wondered why I happened to select just that spot to land, with all eternity to choose from. It was you, love—drawing me like a magnet. The same way it drew me here, now. To the moment when you needed me.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, but some of the conviction had gone out of her voice. “You don’t love me,” she said. “You love—”
“Enough.” The Karg held up his hand. He was in command now, in full control of the situation. “The rationale of my actions is not important. What is important is the duty you’ll perform for the Final Authority—”
“Not me.” Mellia stood up. “I’ve had enough of you—both of you. I won’t carry out your orders.”
“Sit down, Miss Gayl,” the Karg said coldly. When she started to turn away, he caught her wrist, twisted it until she sank into her chair.
She looked at me with wide, scared eyes.
“If you’re wondering why Mr. Ravel fails to leap to your defense,” the Karg said, “I might explain that his considerable armory of implanted neuronic weaponry is quite powerless in this particular locus—which is why I selected it, of course.”
“Powerless—” she started.
“Sorry, doll,” I cut her off. “He played it cute. The nearest power tap is just out of range. He picked the only dead spot in a couple of thousand centuries to decoy us to.”
“Isn’t it a pity that it’s all wasted?” she said in a voice that was trying not to tremble.
“As to that, I’m sure that you will soon prove to me—” said the Karg, “and to yourselves—that I have made no error. We will now proceed to the scene where you will make your contribution to the Final Authority.” He stood.
“We haven’t had our dinner yet,” I said.
“Come, Mr. Ravel—this is no time for facetiousness.”
“I never liked cold mutton anyway,” I said, and stood. Mellia got to her feet slowly, her eyes on me.
“You’re simply going to surrender—without a struggle?”
I lifted my shoulders and smiled a self-forgiving smile. Her face went pale and her mouth came as close to sneering as such a mouth can come.
“Careful,” I said. “You’ll louse up our affinity.”
The Karg had taken a small cube from his pocket. He did things to it. I caught just a glimpse of the gnome-like landlord peeking from the kitchen before it all spun away in a whirlwind like the one that carried Dorothy to the Land of Oz.
29
“Beautiful, don’t you agree?” the Karg said. He waved a hand at the hundred or so square miles of stainless steel we were standing on. Against a black sky, sharp-cornered steel buildings thrust up like gap teeth. Great searchlights dazzled against the complex shapes of giant machines that trundled slowly, with much rumbling, among the structures.
A small rubber-wheeled cart rolled to a noiseless stop beside us. We got in and sat on the utilitarian seats, not comfortable, not uncomfortable—just something to sit on. The cart rolled forward, accelerating very rapidly. The air was cool, with a dead, reused odor. The tall buildings got closer fast. Mellia sat beside me as stiff as a mummy.
We shot in under the cliff-sized buildings, and the car swerved onto a ramp so suddenly that Mellia grabbed at me for support, then snatched her hand away again.
“Relax,” I said. “Slump in your seat and go with the motion. Pretend you’re a sack of potatoes.”
The cart continued its sharp curve, straightened abruptly, shot straight ahead, then dived into a tunnel that curved right and up. We came out on a broad terrace a quarter of a mile above the plain. The cart rolled almost to the edge and stopped. We got out. There was no rail. The Karg led the way toward a bridge all of eighteen inches wide that extended out into total darkness. Mellia hung back.
“Can you walk it?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. No.” This in a whisper, as if she hated to hear herself say it.
“Close your eyes and think about somethin nice,” I said, and picked her up, shoulders an knees. For a moment she was rigid; then she relaxed in my arms.
“That’s it,’ I said. “Sack of potatoes…”
The Karg wasn’t waiting. I followed him, keeping my eyes on the small of his back, not looking down. It seemed like a long walk. I tried not to think about slippery shoes and condensation moisture and protruding rivet heads and all that open air under me.
A lighted door swam out of the darkness ahead. I aimed myself at it and told myself I was strolling down a broad avenue. It worked, or something did. I reached the door, took three steps inside and put Mellia down and waited for the quivers to go away.
We were in a nicely appointed apartment, with a deep rug of a rich dark brown, a fieldstone fireplace, lots of well-draped glass, some dull-polished mahogany, a glint of silver and brass, a smell of leather and brandy and discreet tobacco.
“You’ll be comfortable here,” the Karg said. “You’ll find the pantry well stocked. The library and music facilities are quite complete. There is a bath, with sauna, a small gymnasium, a well-stocked wardrobe for each of you—and of course, a large and scientifically designed bed.”
“Don’t forget that sheet-metal view from the balcony,” I said.
“Yes, of course,” the Karg said. “You will be quite comfortable here…” This time it was almost a question.
Mellia walked over to a table and tested the texture of some artificial flowers in a rough-glazed vase big enough for crematorium use.
“How could we be otherwise?” she said, and laughed sourly.
“I suppose you will wish to sleep and refresh yourselves,” the Karg said. “Do so; then I will instruct you as to your duties.” He turned as if to go.
“Wait!” Mellia said in a tone as sharp as a cleaver hitting spareribs. The Karg looked at her.
“You think you can just walk out—leave us here like this—without any explanation of what to anticipate?”
“You will be informed—”
“I want to be informed now.”
The Karg looked at her with the interested expression of a coroner who sees his customer twitch.
“You seem anxious, Miss Gayl. I assure you, you have no cause to be. Your function here is quite simple and painless—for you—”
“You have hundreds of men working for you; why kidnap us?”
“Not men,” he corrected gently. “Kargs. And unfortunately, this is a task which cannot be performed by a nonorganic being.”
“Go on.”
“The mission of the Final Authority, Miss Gayl, is to establish a temporally stable enclave amid the somewhat chaotic conditions created by man’s ill-advised meddling with the entropic contour. To this end it is necessary that we select only those temporal strands which exhibit a strong degree of viability, to contribute to the enduring fabric of Final Authority time. So far, no mechanical means for making discretionary judgments on such matters have been devised. Organic humans, however, it appears, possess certain as yet little understood faculties which enable them to sense the vigor of a continuum directly. This can be best carried out by a pair of trained persons, one occupying a position in what I might describe as a standard entropic environment, while the other is inserted into a sequence of alternative media. Any loss of personal emanation due to attenuated vitality is at once sensed by the control partner, and the appropriate notation made in the masterfile. In this way an accurate chart can be compiled to guide us in our choice of constituent temporal strands.”